


Bishop Knife Trick

by justasock_x



Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [10]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justasock_x/pseuds/justasock_x
Summary: I'm yours 'til the earth starts to crumble and the heavens roll away. I'm struggling to exist with you and without you, yeah.Jaskier and Geralt find their destiny at the sea.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894084
Kudos: 55





	Bishop Knife Trick

**Author's Note:**

> Fics in this series are oneshots loosely based on the songs from the album M A N I A, by Fall Out Boy. Not beta-read, all mistakes are my own. Fandom knowledge comes exclusively from the TV series, other fics, and cursory Googling. Marked M for content in previous sections.

The tavern went silent as Yennefer sailed inside, her bright violet eyes scanning the patrons and finding them lacking. She sighed; she hated when people were late for appointments with her, whether they knew of the appointment or not. Uneasy chatter started up again as she approached the bar, and the hulking older man behind it met her gaze with a raised brow.

“Help ya miss?” he asked, voice low and rough, but friendly. His eyes were distrusting as they watched her, but she was unbothered. It pleased her to make men sweat.

“A glass of wine,” she answered, dropping a coin onto the bar. He picked it up and nodded, pouring a glass for her and offering it with a steady hand.

“New Toussaint red,” he said, and she smiled, taking it and making for a table. 

Yennefer drummed her fingers on the scarred wood of the table as she waited impatiently, swirling the wine in her glass and taking a sip. She wrinkled her nose as she swallowed it and traced a finger around the lip of the cup, lips quirking as it turned pale pink and shimmery. She sipped it again and sighed, pleased.

The door banged open again an hour later and admitted two men, soaking wet and covered in muck. She rolled her eyes, but kept to her seat to watch as the pair approached the owner.

“Here,” the bigger one growled, slamming the head of a wyvern on the spot the man had been wiping down only moments ago. It landed with a wet _thunk_ , and the barkeep grimaced. “I’ll take that room, now.”

The man sighed and wiped his hands on the cloth, reaching into his pocket and producing a key, which he held out to the pair. Yennefer smirked as she noticed that his hands were trembling _now_. The smaller man’s hand darted out to snatch the key, and the pair hurried up the steps, the wyvern’s head still sitting on the bar. The barkeep looked a bit green, and his hands fluttered anxiously for a moment.

“Someone fetch the alderman for this,” he roared as he stormed through the back and into the kitchen, the wyvern’s head clenched in his fist, which he’d covered with the now-ruined rag. 

Yennefer finished her drink leisurely and then made her way upstairs, following the sounds of armor and clothing being shed to the last room on the right in the narrow hallway. She considered knocking, but disregarded the thought and pushed the door open. 

Geralt was already naked and in the bath, a large metal wash basin that steamed with fragrant water. Jaskier was bent at the waist, pulling his breeches off, and he nearly tripped at the sound of the door opening, whirling around and covering himself with the clothes in his hands.

“Christ, Yennefer!” he snapped, flushing hotly. “Have you ever heard of knocking?”

The mage smirked and the Witcher in the bath chuckled under his breath. “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” she said airily, waving a hand. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“I’m glad you’re amused,” the bard muttered, but after eyeing Yennefer suspiciously for a moment his normal confidence returned, and he neatly folded the trousers in his hands before removing his smallclothes. The mage pretended to study her nails, but Geralt caught her watching Jaskier out of the corner of her violet eyes, and he tried not to laugh. She’d always teased him, but Jaskier was beautiful and captivating, and even Yennefer must’ve finally realized it.

“I knew she was coming,” Geralt drawled lazily, more relaxed than Yennefer had ever seen him. Jaskier sighed but let his tirade die as he sank into the bath opposite of the Witcher, their legs brushing as he settled and let out a groan. 

“Gods, this is exactly what I needed. If I never get dropped by another wyvern so long as I live-” 

“-which would never have happened had you done what you were told,” Geralt interrupted, tension suddenly cording his neck and shoulders. The bard deflated a little.

“You needed my help,” he argued after a moment of silence, beginning to wash himself briskly with a soft cloth and a bar of soap he’d made himself. “That thing had you pinned, Geralt.” 

“You’re not a fighter,” the Witcher insisted.

“I still managed to help!”

“Boys!” Yennefer interrupted, rolling her eyes. “As lovely as this bickering is - and it truly is just wonderful to see you two snap back and forth like an old married couple - I did come to this shithole town for a reason.” 

Jaskier’s gaze turned to her briefly, but Geralt ignored her entirely and dunked his head under the water. He emerged after a moment, hair streaming, and turned around in the tub to present his tangled, filthy hair to the bard. Jaskier, used to this routine by now, began immediately to soap and detangle, pulling bits of leaf and viscera from the long strands as he smoothed them back into order, and his gaze left her, immediately consumed again by the Witcher. She sighed.

“I am _here_ ,” she stressed, through gritted teeth, “to warn you both that mages have noticed extremely high levels of volatility in the sea.” She stood from the seat she’d claimed at the edge of the pitiful mattress and made her way to the bath. Jaskier watched her carefully when she came behind him, but she only held out a hand expectantly. 

“The soap, bard,” she said, snapping her fingers impatiently. Bewildered, Jaskier handed it over. She lathered her hands quickly and set to work on the bard’s own mop of tangled waves, her dexterous fingers quickly reducing him to a pliable puddle. Geralt watched from the spot he’d reclaimed at the other end of the tub, amusement clear in his face.

“Now, as I was saying,” Yennefer continued, looking at him meaningfully over the bard’s shoulders as she worked to clean his hair, “the volatility of the sea has been increasing rapidly over the past several months, _and_ there has been a noticeable uptick in water monsters farther inland than normal.”

She patted at the bard’s shoulder and Jaskier obediently dunked his head, emerging clean and smelling faintly of lavender. The men finished their bath and dried off, dressing in their smallclothes and sitting with the mage on the small, lumpy mattress. 

“What does that mean?” Jaskier asked. “What kind of volatility?”

“More storms, for one,” the mage answered. “Deluges all along the coast and as far inland as the western half of Temeria. Storms that last for days, wash homes and livestock away. The ocean is angry, and something is coming.”

Geralt sighed and Yennefer’s keen violet eyes locked onto his. “I’ve noticed the uptick in water monsters,” he admitted, running a hand through the drying strands of his hair. “Fuck.”

“Nereus must be coming,” Jaskier said quietly, staring down at his hands where they lay tangled in his lap. 

“What do we do?” Yennefer asked. Geralt didn’t have an answer, but Jaskier spoke for them and it was decided.

“We go to the sea and we meet him.” 

* * *

The trip from Dol Blathanna, where Yennefer had waylaid the pair of them in the tiny tavern, to the coast of the Great Sea off of Verden where Jaskier was convinced he would meet his father, would have taken ages if not for Yennefer’s magic. She portaled them only to Carreras, and the bard protested when she suggested they take the rest on foot. She grabbed him by the shoulders to stare at him intently. 

“Jaskier, Chaos is even now rolling over us from the sea, I know you can feel it!” she snapped. It was true - she was almost yelling, the winds in Carreras whipping the smell of sea salt around them despite being far away from the coast. The bard shivered and nodded, and she released him. 

“I understand,” he murmured, touching her hand briefly as it dropped from his body. “Thank you.” And Jaskier did understand, now that he was paying attention - the Chaos already sweeping the Continent was best left undisturbed for as long as possible, considering the source. The pair shared a look that Geralt couldn’t decipher, but he wasn’t given a chance to contemplate it before they began to walk and he could do nothing but follow. 

They were waylaid in Dillingen and the trio’s patience was wearing thin. The town had seen a clash with Nilfgaard and suffered heavy peasant casualties. The mass grave had drawn a crowd of rotfiends, and the town lived in fear until word came that the White Wolf and his trusty bard companion were riding into town, and wouldn’t they please take care of the rotfiend infestation before they traveled on? Geralt handled the pests with a little help from Yennefer - there were an unusual amount of them in one group - and collected the purse immediately. It cost them half a day of travel time, but they left the next morning and rode hard, bunking down in the tiny town that surrounded the Rozrog fortress in Verden that evening. They would leave at first light and reach the coast in the morning.

“I’m not so sure he’s going to just show up,” Yennefer fretted as she paced the tiny room they’d rented. The two men were reclined on the bed next to one another, watching her with mild interest as she carried on. “Honestly, this makes no sense to me. Nereus returning for you for what? You’ve been banished. And that dream you mentioned,” she continued, index finger of her left hand now tapping her lip as she thought out loud, “it almost sounds like a prophecy, but we already know he’s coming for you, so was he just communicating that to you directly?”

Jaskier let her talk herself in circles. His head ached and his nerves were already fraught as he considered what he would do tomorrow if Nereus _did_ happen to appear on the shore. No matter what happened, the bard decided, at least he had Geralt and Yennefer by his side. The witch had been surprisingly warm to him since they’d discovered his non-human lineage and he and Geralt had revealed their relationship, and he liked to think it was because she knew he would take care of the Witcher and keep him in line. Yennefer didn’t have to worry so much about Geralt’s lack of self-preservation if Jaskier was always tagging along - she knew the bard would never let the Witcher get fatally wounded, and if he was seriously hurt, the bard could help him. They had an understanding, a bond that they hadn’t had before.

“All we can do is go to the shore tomorrow and see what happens,” Geralt finally rumbled in irritation, interrupting Yennefer’s monologue. She glared at him and clicked her tongue.

“You don’t even care to try and figure out how we might prepare?” she shot back in challenge. 

“No, Yen, I don’t,” he answered, wrapping an arm around Jaskier and tugging him more securely against his side. “What I would like is for you to come to bed so that we might all three be rested for tomorrow.”

She stood undecided for a moment before shedding her dress. Clad in her linen shift, she considered the small bed with an arched brow. Jaskier patted the sliver of space next to him and the wall invitingly and waggled his eyebrows with a teasing smirk. She snorted but took the offered spot, turning to face the wall and hiding her smile when Jaskier pressed up against her back. She didn’t protest at the feel of his arm around her waist, keeping her secure against him. She could feel the brush of Geralt’s bigger arm between her and the bard, and she drifted off to the silly notion that she felt safe and comfortable, finally, and it might be alright just to rest.

* * *

The sea was black and raging when the trio made it to the coast, and the wind whipped salt and sand into their eyes. Blinking against the stinging, Jaskier struggled forward until he was knee-deep in water. His mouth opened, and Geralt and Yennefer watched from the coast as he began to wail. It would’ve been singing, Geralt supposed with his hands over his ears, but the sounds were so high-pitched it sounded more like shrieking, and the howling of the wind and raging sea only amplified Jaskier’s voice.

“He’s not coming!” Yennefer shouted after a few moments. Geralt ignored her, eyes staring intently at the bard who began to walk further into the ocean. The Witcher went to chase him, but found his legs wouldn’t cooperate. He removed his hands from his ears. Suddenly, there was only silence. The waves were still crashing on the shore, but it was all quiet aside from the bard’s voice. The wailing had become high and sweet, a soothing lullaby in the silence at the eye of the storm. From the water came a quiet cracking sound, and a large rock rose from the waves. It stopped, and a man sat upon it cross-legged, head bowed. The bard’s voice fell away. Geralt felt Yennefer reach for his hand, and he twisted their fingers together, squeezing tight. 

“Well, I’m here,” Jaskier shouted at the man. He didn’t move. “Answer me, Nereus!” Lightning cracked in the sky, and it began to pour. The man sitting atop the rock stood gracefully, unfolding a long, thin body. 

“Hello, Nerites,” the man answered, stepping into the sea to meet the bard. He had long, thin fingers and delicate hands - his skin was almost translucent and Jaskier could see the blue veins underneath his skin when he reached out a hand. “My son.”

The bard flinched back, but Nereus moved forward and placed his cold, wet hand against the skin of Jaskier’s cheek. 

“You have always been rebellious, little Nerites,” the god observed. Jaskier swallowed hard, and Geralt could see him trembling despite the distance between them. He tried once more to move forward and found that he could do so. His pace picked up until he was moving as quickly as he could given the sand and furious waves between him and the bard. Once he reached the pair in the sea, he pulled Jaskier away from Nereus’ hand and back into his own chest. The god merely smiled and let his hand fall.

“Ah, your lover. The one marked for you by destiny.”

“What?” Jaskier asked, voice low and cracking. “What do you mean, destiny?” The god laughed.

“My son,” he said, folding his hands together as he looked at them both, “Geralt of Rivia was chosen for you long before you came to be on this Continent. I am old, but of course you know this. Our kind were brought about by the magic of the Conjunction of the Spheres, and we were worshiped by elves, dryads, and dwarves before humans ever came to be.

You have been born and died so many times, my Nerites, but this time, destiny has intervened. Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf - he is your destiny as Princess Cirilla and Yennefer of Vengerburg are his. The two of you have been woven together many times over and will be again.”

“Why am I learning this now?” Jaskier asked desperately. “How can I be thousands of years old but not remember anything?”

Nereus steepled his fingers. “You have always been different, Nerites. You were born male, with fifty sisters. You were banished by Zeus, and you died. But then,” the god continued, shaking a finger, “you were born again, and died again. And again. And again. The muses, the fates, destiny - they didn’t know what to do with a creature such as you, my darling son. But then the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, survived the Trail of the Grasses and more mutations than any Witcher before him. He met you, Nerites, and tied your fate to his. They knew you would help him and the Continent with your gifts.”

“I don’t know how,” Jaskier whispered. 

“Jaskier heals me,” Geralt said suddenly. The bard stiffened in his grasp. “He helps make my salves and potions. You came to him in a dream.”

“No. I didn’t. What dream?”

Jaskier explained the nightmare he’d had of Nereus and his disembodied voice on the coast, how he’d run and struggled and been pinned down. The god made a thoughtful noise.

“It would seem your prophecies are clouded by your emotion, but they ring true. Harness your emotions better, Nerites, and you will harness your prophecies.”

“I’ve seen Cirilla,” Jaskier realized suddenly. “I’ve seen her in my dreams. She’s running through forests, trying to outrun Nilfgaard. They’re chasing her.”

Nereus smiled. “You have much work to do. Best to get started right away.” He clapped and then he was gone. The clouds began to disperse, weak sunlight shining through as the ocean slowed. The bard and the Witcher stood still for a moment, soaked and shivering, before Yennefer’s shouting from the shore broke the spell. They moved immediately back to shore, and Yennefer helped pull them out of the water. She conjured a small fire for them to dry by, and they sat in silence for a long stretch of time. Jaskier’s hair was curling at the ends as it dried. Geralt had tied his back carelessly in a knot. 

“Well,” the Witcher said finally, turning to look at Jaskier. “Where’s my Princess, bard?”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier admitted, voice filled with despair. His hands kept flitting about - touching his hair, fidgeting with his buttons. Geralt took them both in his own and held them firm until the bard was steady. Yennefer put a hand on his shoulder as well, and he eventually sighed and sagged as the tension left his body. “I don’t know how to decipher them. They’re like snatches of half-remembered memories. I can’t hold onto them for long.” Yennefer made a noise in her throat, considering.

“What?” Geralt asked curiously as he turned toward the mage at the sound.

“I might be able to help Jaskier gain clarity on his prophecies,” she said, studying the bard intently. He flushed slightly under her scrutiny, and her face softened. “It wouldn’t hurt, but you would need to let me poke around in there.” 

The bard tensed. He remembered vividly the last time a mage had played around in his head and left him docile and trapped in his mind. He didn’t want a chance to relive that experience. His hesitation must’ve shown on his face, because Yennefer folded an arm around him to tug him close, resting her cheek on the top of his head as she led it to the curve of her throat. Jaskier sighed and relaxed slowly as he inhaled the familiar scent of lilac and gooseberries. 

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me intentionally,” he said eventually. “That’s not what I’m afraid of.”

“It’s still scary,” Yennefer agreed, thin fingers beginning to card through Jaskier’s hair. Geralt’s chest warmed to see how they had eased into this strange friendship of theirs - always sniping at one another unless they needed comfort, in which case they would turn into one another’s biggest champions. His little ragtag family was strange indeed, he mused, a couple of hardened Witchers, a bard, a mage, and eventually, a Child Surprise.

“They don’t happen all of the time,” Jaskier hedged. Yen shrugged.

“That’s fine. I can probably induce them, since I know what I’m looking for. Do you trust me?” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Jaskier didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Alright then,” Geralt said, sitting upright. “How can I help?”

Yennefer rearranged them so that Geralt sat with his back against one of the big rocks on the shore with Jaskier between his legs, reclined against his chest. His muscled arms were wrapped securely around Jaskier’s waist, and the bard’s thinner limbs rested on top of Geralt’s. Yennefer kneeled in the sand in front of them, one hand sparking purple as she held it aloft, inches from Jaskier’s temple.

“Ready?” she asked, pausing to check his face. He swallowed hard but nodded resolutely. She touched her fingertips to his skin, and Jaskier went limp. Geralt growled low in his throat. “He’s just asleep, Geralt. Sh. I need to concentrate.” 

Yennefer closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them, she saw Jaskier’s thoughts and plans and dreams swirling around her like an endless vortex. She began to walk, heels silent on the constantly-shifting floor. Pushing her thoughts outward, Yennefer followed the thin string of the prophecy she was searching for, shocked at the things she saw as she walked. A flash of Jaskier as a chubby-cheeked toddler, being handled by a woman she instinctively realized was his mother. A glimpse of him and Geralt tangled together in the furs at Kaer Morhen. An image of him immortalized in a painting far older than his years. Flashes of the sea and the oceans he’d lived in but couldn’t remember or ever return to. She came to what must’ve been his and Geralt’s first meeting, outlined in a gold shimmer. Stopping to watch it briefly, Yennefer saw the thin, awkward youth of a boy unsure of his place in the world and the fearlessness of him as he approached a hardened Witcher with a scowl on his face and an ale in front of him. Jaskier hadn’t noticed, but Yennefer saw the way Geralt’s golden eyes widened and scanned the length of him, the hunger that twitched at the edge of his gaze. _Destiny indeed_ , she mused before she continued.

Yennefer saw the flash of silver-white hair and followed it to the prophecy she had been looking for. Princess Cirilla, surrounded by a group of boys who obviously knew her, taunting her about the death of her family as they pushed and pulled at her clothes. She seethed with rage, but watched on as the young girl screamed, an echoing sound that knocked the boys clean out and the young princess as well. Yennefer kept watching. The boys were dead - flies began to buzz around their bodies, but the princess stayed asleep. The prophecy faded. Yennefer recalled it and began poking around it, testing for anything she could use to locate the princess. 

“Wow, this is harder than it looks,” Jaskier’s voice said from behind her. She whirled, surprised to find him standing there with his hands on his hips, glancing around.

“How did you…” she trailed off, confused.

“Well, it’s my own head, shouldn’t I be able to manifest in it, too?” he demanded, furrowing his brow. She laughed, and his frown turned into a beaming grin. He came up to her and offered his elbow. The mage took it with delight, and they watched the prophecy over again. 

“That horse,” Jaskier said, “it’s familiar to me, but I’m not sure why.” 

“Well, it’s dead now,” Yennefer answered doubtfully.

“Yes, but still. That particular breed...it’s not often seen outside of a particularly small village on the outskirts of Sodden.”

“She's that close?”

“Mm,” Jaskier agreed absently, tapping his lip with a fingertip. “She's near the Yaruga,” he realized, "the river that feeds from my home sea."

Yennefer blinked, and she was kneeling in front of the bard again, Jaskier’s wide blue eyes focused on hers. Geralt made a questioning noise, but she lunged forward to hug Jaskier close. He brought his arms up around her and hugged her back, confused but pleased.

“You are so much more than I expected, bard,” was all she said when she pulled back. 

“Well,” Jaskier managed, cheeks flushed. “To Sodden then, oh mighty witch?”

Geralt snorted as Jaskier stood and offered him a hand, taking it and getting to his feet silently. 

“Are either of you going to tell me what happened in that strange head of his or not?” the Witcher asked, folding his arms with a raised brow.

The accused pair glanced at each other. 

“Jaskier is more powerful than I anticipated,” Yennefer admitted, shrugging a shoulder. “And his prophecies are extremely helpful. We believe Princess Cirilla is in Sodden, near the Yaruga river.” 

“What makes you think she’s gotten so far? Where is she going?”

“Probably to Kaer Morhen via the long road,” Jaskier interjected. “If Nilfgaard knows she’s tied to you, they’ll be expecting her to go to the keep and probably going to have soldiers patrolling the known path. She probably went the long way to try and lose them.”

Geralt nodded approvingly. “Makes sense,” he muttered. “Alright. To Sodden?”

“To Sodden,” Yennefer agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, bookmarked, and left feedback via comments and kudos. I really appreciated the love and support for this silly series! I haven't written and finished something in a long time, so thank you for sticking with me and giving me the encouragement to continue. ♥


End file.
